Cole felt insulted. Indignant. Betrayed.
Again.
That stung.
And he was sick of it.
“Well, an investigator helped me with locating my mother,” Monica said, referring to her trials to reconnect with parents who had given her up into the foster care system.
“What was her name again?” Gabe asked. “Bobbie...?”
“Barnett,” she supplied.
“Are we doing this?” Gabe asked.
Cole firmly nodded. “Hell yeah.”
One week later
Jillian was relieved to enter her apartment. It was nearly midnight. She was bushed and thankful to have the next day off. The restaurant’s renovation and more updated look had increased bookings and the entire night she and her team had been swamped with orders. During the work, the fatigue had been beaten off with energy, a desire to perfect and a need to please each patron. Afterward, without work to fuel her, exhaustion was queen.
She eased everything to the floor by the closed front door, including the clothes she wore. Naked, she freed her topknot and shook her curls out as she made her way down the hall to her bedroom. Not even the pastel colors against a white backdrop gave her their usual boost as she entered the en suite bathroom and treated herself to a quick shower and washed her hair to free it of the smell of food clinging to her.
Once done, she stood in the shower and inhaled deeply of the steam now scented with her favorite soap and shampoo. The only thing she had left to do for the night was to call Cole. Looking forward to seeing his face and hearing his deep voice spurned her to open the fogged door to step out and wrap a plush white towel around her damp hair and then her body.
She retrieved her phone from her bag by the door. Quickly made her way back to the bedroom to sit cross-legged on the foot of the bed. She had missed calls and texts.
She chuckled at the funny meme her grandmother had sent of the sensual silver-haired man from the Dos Equis commercial—the most interesting man in the world. Ionie thought he was one of the sexiest men in the world and made no qualms about it.
Her father just wanted her to know he missed his daughter.
Her mother wanted a recipe for a meal to cook for her father for their upcoming anniversary.
Warren requested a call back when she had time.
With plans to call her family and friend the next day. Jillian returned Cole’s missed call instead. She struck several cute poses as she waited for him to answer. She was disappointed when he never did.
Maybe he’s asleep, she thought as she rose to plug the power cord into her phone before setting it on the turquoise-tinted glass bedside table.
Cole had always insisted she call to let him know she’d made it home safely. It would be the first night since her return from the east coast that he hadn’t answered. She turned off the clear globe lamp and dropped the towel around her body to the floor before climbing under the covers, enjoying he feel of the cool, crisp sheets against her skin as she looked out the window at the half moon. Snuggling one of her plump pillows to her side helped in how much she missed Cole’s body beside her, but not by much.
Never had she expected to long for him in her life. Love had not been a part of her plan, but here she was. And she loved him.
His humor.
His smile.
His advice.
His loyalty.
His strong hugs.
His kisses.
His lovemaking.
She pressed her thighs and knees together as the bud nestled beneath the lips of her intimacy swelled with life. Some attention from his clever tongue was just what she needed to send her into a deep sleep. Cole’s loving was the epitome of the Energizer bunny.
And of her fear of being hurt.
It lingered but was repeatedly defeated as her methods at wooing him seem to succeed. Cole seemed more like himself. Fun, charming, and with a ready smile.
The job at CRESS III was affording her choices—more than she’d had in a long time. She was steadily paying down her insufferable debt, helping her parents with her grandmother’s in-home nursing care, and able to treat herself a little. The job didn’t bring her the same freedom and joy of working for herself, but the stability it offered was clear.
And after financial ruin, that was important.
Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzz.
Her heart jolted at the sudden loud vibrations of her phone against the glass. She flopped over to snatch it up and smiled at his contact picture on the screen. She answered. “Hey, Cole,” she said, touching the globe to illuminate the bedroom some.
He gave her the grin that made all her pulses race. “You in bed already?” he asked.
“Not sleeping,” she assured him, feeling a tiny niggle of shock at how accommodating she was willing to be for him.
The Jillian of old had only cared about having her sexual appetited sated.
The new territory in which they’d ventured was still a little frightful because she was phobic of love.
But the feeling of being in love was beautiful. Nicer than she had ever thought or imagined it to be.
Will he ever admit to loving me back? Does he?
“Wait? Where are you headed?” she said, noticing when the phone dipped that he was fully dressed—leather jacket and all.
“Open the door.”
She sat upright as her heart hammered and her stomach tightened. “Huh?” she said softly, tentatively tossing the covers back from her body. “Don’t joke. It’s not funny.”
Cole chuckled and the twinkle in his gray-blue eyes against his shortbread-brown complexion was magnetic. “My bad. Sorry,” he said.
She made a face and flopped back onto her pillows. “Got my hopes up, Cole Cress,” she chastised him.
He just shrugged one broad shoulder.
Jillian arched a brow. “Wait. Huh?” she said as she straightened. “Are you here or not?”
“Am I?”
Jillian ended the call and rushed from her bed. Her bare feet lightly beat against the hardwood flooring as she rounded the corner, jetted down the hall, and snatched the front door open just as naked as the day her mother had pushed her into the world. But the hall was empty, and her disappointment stung.
Shoving the door to swing it closed, she turned. “I am going to tell Cole Cress something about tricking me!” she muttered, now in an intolerable lousy mood.
“Tell me to my face.”
She spun.
Cole leaned in the doorway, his arm keeping the door from actually closing.
She covered her shock well and leaned against the wall to eye him. “You came this far, come a little bit more,” she said in a sultry voice as she beckoned him with a wiggle of her index finger.
He nodded and hung his head for a moment before looking up to take in her nudity. His eyes smoldered and seemed to darken in color. “I flew across the country just to spend your day off with you,” he countered.
A playful battle of wills.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, looking down the length of the hall at him as she fought like hell not to run and collide into him.
“Meet me halfway,” he offered.
Jillian pushed off the wall and slowly walked to the midway point between them. She loved how his eyes did not miss the sway of her hips or her breasts. She was already bold and confident, but his attention made her feel simply divine. And when he stepped inside to close the door, dropped his leather duffel bag and then all of his clothing to join her mess on the floor, she gave him the same ogling—enjoying every moment and movement of his strong muscled frame.
It was the sway of his member back and forth across his thighs that was her undoing, and she moved to him, taking the inches into her hand as he encased her in his embrace and tasted her lips with hunger as she stroke
d him to hardness.
Cole picked her up, and she clung to his neck, pressing kisses to his shoulder as she guided him to her bedroom.
Atop her on the middle of the bed, and in her deeply, he made fierce love to her. Her fears were quieted and she felt hopeful this man—this beautiful, loyal and charming man—would be hers.
Long after explosive climaxes that had evoked cries from them both, she lay against his chest with her bent legs atop his and enjoyed the up and down movement of his chest as he took deep breaths meant to sustain him after such an exhaustive workout.
“What will we do tomorrow?” Jillian asked as she stroked her thumb across one of his flat brown nipples.
Cole lightly rested a hand on her buttocks and gave it a tap as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Whatever you want. I just have a Zoom meeting with my team around nine, and then I’m yours for the rest of the day,” he said, his deep voice seeming to rumble in his chest against her ear.
And hopefully for longer than that.
That thought caused her to stiffen in surprise. Love for Cole—she had accepted that fact. But more? Marriage? Forever? That was new. And startling.
“How’s the revamp coming?” she asked, seeking a hiding place from her thoughts.
“Great, actually,” Cole said. “When I took the position, it was more about family duty and obligation, but I have to admit my mother saw something in me that I am just discovering. I am enjoying the work and have a good eye for it. I want to succeed. Not to best my brothers for the CEO position my father will vacate, but to help make the best for whichever of my brothers succeeds him.”
Cole. Ever loyal. And expecting nothing less. Even from her.
I will never let you down again, my love.
She rose slightly to look down at him and stroked the side of his face. “So, you’ve decided you don’t want it?” she asked.
“I never did, but I’m ready now to officially step down from being in the race,” he said before turning his head to press a warm kiss to her palm. “I’m learning that focusing on antagonizing my father is foolish. Perhaps in my need to best him, I am worried I will become him.”
She kissed the side of his mouth and fought the urge to declare her love for him even as it nearly burst her heart. She so badly wanted to ask for the impetus for his broken relationship with his father, but she refrained. Knowing how close she was to her parents, she couldn’t imagine what had caused such a deep fracture between them.
“Whenever you want to talk about it, I am here for you,” she whispered, needing him to know that she would always have his back.
Cole looked up and locked his eyes with her own. They searched hers for so long. So intensely. She could only hope that what he sought he found in her brown depths. “You are making this harder and harder for me,” he admitted with the hint of a smile.
She tilted her head to the side, feeling hopeful. “Good,” she whispered down to him.
One week later
The silence in Cole’s now beautifully furnished living room was stunning as he, Gabriel and Monica sat on the low-slung, dark blue suede sofa and eyed the woman sitting across from them on the matching piece. Nothing echoed but the crackle of the modern slate fireplace to the side of them.
Bobbie Barnett, a medium-brown woman with long, wild, loose ebony curls that floated beyond her shoulders, long black lashes and pouty lips glossed with brown, was beautiful. Still, it wasn’t the private investigator’s looks that held everyone captive.
It was the truth she’d just revealed to them.
“Well, damn,” Gabe finally said, reaching for Monica’s hand and holding it tightly.
Cole rose and walked over to the dining room, needing space and clarity. He hadn’t known what secrets, if any, would be uncovered, but never had he expected to be told his father had an illegitimate son in England from when he was just eighteen. Before he’d even met their mother.
Another Cress son.
A brother.
What do we do with this information?
“What’s his name?” Gabe asked.
Cole turned and crossed his arms over his chest as he awaited the response.
“Lincoln Cress,” Bobbie offered, her voice soft and raspy.
Cole frowned. “Did he know? Our father. Did he know?” he asked, striding across the room to rejoin them.
Bobbie sat back and crossed her legs. “At this point, I doubt it. His name is on the birth certificate, but it’s not signed,” she said, opening the file she held in her lap. “I have a little info on your brother. On Lincoln. Do you want it?” She eyed them all.
Gabe and Monica shared a brief look.
Cole released a deep breath as he glanced at his booted feet and then back over to her. “I do,” he admitted.
“Me, too,” Gabe agreed.
Bobbie nodded and tossed her wild mane behind her shoulder as she cleared her throat. She removed a photo and set it on Cole’s wide metal-trimmed stone coffee table. “He lives in England where he is a chef at his own Michelin-star restaurant,” she said, pausing to look up at them at the similarity. “Single. No children. Well off. Well educated. And upon meeting him, without revealing to my true intent in being there, he is...uh...quite a character.”
Cole reclaimed his seat and took the photo Gabe had studied and then handed to him. “Meaning?” he asked before looking down.
Their eldest brother resembled Lenny Kravitz. In good shape. Strong features. Handsome.
He could see similarities in this stranger and their father.
“A little moody,” she said with an expression that made it clear their encounter had not been fun for her. “Rude comes to mind, but perhaps I caught him at the wrong time. Who knows?”
“I think we need to know more about him before we even decide what to do next,” Cole suggested.
“I would recommend a blood test at some point,” Monica offered.
The brothers nodded in agreement.
Bobbie set the folder on the table. On top was her bill, including fees for her trip to England. “I think it entails a trip back to London to really get at it,” she said.
Neither man flinched at the hefty price or the next bill to come.
“Fine,” they said in unison.
She rose and offered her hand to all three. “Good. We can do it week to week and, whenever you tell me it’s enough, I’m headed home,” she promised. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge extra for his bad mood.”
Monica walked the other woman to the door while Cole and Gabe shared a long look as neither could do anything more than release heavy breaths.
Eight
One month later
“Six months,” Jillian said, standing in front of the mirror and eyeing her reflection in her black T-shirt and matching uniform pants.
She’d given the position half a year and she still hated it. Not the ability and desire to cook delectable meals—that was an inherent part of who she was and had always longed to be. The rules of the corporate structure left her feeling restricted and her culinary gift now felt a burden.
For Cress, INC. to be started by two world-renowned chefs who had a bevy of sons, also just as skilled and well known in their field, was particularly irksome for her. Phillip Senior and Nicolette should understand more than anyone with just a business background that chefs needed the freedom to create, to evolve.
The decision to add a varying seasoning was watched over by the manager with the eye of an eagle—or more like a buzzard awaiting its next prey to fail and fall to its death.
Jillian made a playful face before turning from her reflection. Quickly she grabbed her phone and her satchel, being sure her beloved engraved knife set was snuggled inside it. At the door, she retrieved her short, lightweight, black trench from the closet and then walked out the door. She considered driving the sh
ort distance to the restaurant but walked instead, enjoying the smell of the harbor. She released a breath and eased her hands into the deep pockets of her trench coat. Inside one was an envelope. She stroked it with her fingers. She’d debated what to do with the letter ever since she’d written it, carefully folded it and sealed it inside. That had been a week ago.
It was her resignation.
Never had she felt such ill at ease about going to work. She knew the feeling to be dread. Creativity could not thrive in such an environment. Not even when her restaurant had begun to fail had she lost determination to get in and fight for her dream. Never had she thought of giving up.
Never.
But failure had taught her well. Spending profits and not saving them for possible bad times ahead had been so very foolish. Never again, she promised herself.
And, if she were honest, even the strict nature of Cress, INC. had taught her something. About efficiency, marketing, low turnover, and the need for a team outside of making great meals, for a restaurant to thrive.
Her dread resurfaced as she eyed the towering restaurant at the end of the pier. The spacious parking lot was empty, save the section set aside in the rear for employees. She rolled her eyes at the sight of Clark’s yellow vintage Mercedes-Benz parked in his spot next to her empty one.
Her hand stroked the envelope again.
She had been diligent in paying down her debt and even had some money saved. All would not be lost if she used the six months of experience and took it to another restaurant or tried again at opening her own.
The last thought slowed her steps just as she reached the rear door leading directly into the kitchen.
Am I better prepared this time?
She sighed.
That, she didn’t know. But what she was sure of was the feeling that she was missing out on so much by sticking it out in San Francisco. Her man. Her family. Her creative freedom.
It was not just the structure and conformity she disdained. Not being in New York with Cole and her family felt like a waste when she was so unhappy without them.
The Rebel Heir Page 10
